


on this night, in this light (i think i'm falling)

by morino



Series: [ collection ] – obstacles [4]
Category: springwave
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-13 17:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10518891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morino/pseuds/morino
Summary: it's why he came back after the first night, the only why that continues to stand once every other tower of sense crumbles around him: hewants.[ apartment au; min/shin ]





	

He opens his mouth. Salivates around the two fingers that settle on his tongue, sucks around them when they bend slightly and press down.  
  
_Close up_ , they ask. He does.  
  
The fingers slide further in. It's slow enough that he doesn't fully take notice until the ends of blunt nails are close enough to the roof of his mouth to barely tickle. They could pierce him, maybe, if they arched and turned upward. They don't.  
  
Shin breathes through his nose, shaky even in his search for repose.  
  
His eyes are dry and that is why he looks down, stares at his splayed fingers. There are no tears to blur the shape of his frame, no tears to muddy the red color on his face and around his neck, no tears to hide the flush that spreads over the rest of him.  
  
A different hand, gentle and still wet from the pool, cradles his chin and urges him to look up. Back at himself, knees spread a distance apart, strands of hair stuck unceremoniously across his forehead; at the man sitting next to him, droplets cascading down his skin and onto bed sheets, his fingers residing in Shin's mouth.  
  
He's smiling, soft and a touch reassuring.  
  
Shin cannot help the way that makes his entire body – from his knees down to his toes and back up to and through his spine – buckle. From the weight of such an attentive stare, or the heaviness of his arousal, he isn't sure. Perhaps it's both.  
  
They can both see him shudder in the mirror; how that one look leaves his shoulders slouching and his chest heaving, surprise and timidity running overlapping circles in his eyes.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
The voice is too close to his ear, too slippery, leaving a smooth trail behind it as it laves over his skin.  
  
Shin keeps his eyes open even as the pleasurable lull of Min's voice urges them to shut, forces his gaze to remain on their reflection as a moan is dragged from his throat like dead weight.  
  
After he blinks, a temporary escape from the moment he's in, nothing wet gathers in the corners of his eyes. He's doing better this time.  
  
He is rewarded for this, like so many other things, with a kiss to his shoulder, featherlight and barely there.  
  
"That's good," another kiss, heavier than the last, a solid presence even when lips part to mumble into the sloop of his neck, "you're good."  
  
The phantom of exhaustion holding his shoulders down evaporates, replaced by a second wind of will. It is brought on by the reminder of why he's doing this, why he came back after the first night, the only why that continues to stand once every other tower of sense crumbles around him: he _wants_.  
  
He wants to be good. He wants to be good for him. He wants to feel because of him. He wants to make him feel. He wants to make him feel just as good.  
  
Shin dutifully sucks on the digits between his lips before he's told to, skips past the steps they had to take the last time they tried this. He does it again when Min lifts his head up and looks at him with an eyebrow raised in question.  
  
A third finger slips past, as if to test the boundaries they're both in, see if their rules have changed, if one of them wants to step outside of the circle they're in. Shin's tongue moves of its own accord to welcome it, and as it does his eyes close, no longer beholden to his showing of hesitance and instead eager to communicate his newly found resolve.  
  
In that moment he disregards whatever wishes Min might have had for them when they started and works off his own script. He doesn't understand what he's doing, not fully. Just knows that in the fabricated images he flicks past in his mind, he is on his knees and between two legs, tongue lapping up, up, up, and not around and along every individual finger in his mouth.  
  
When he feels them start to slip from the weak hold of his lips, Shin allows them to move, up until the point where they're almost lost to him. Min's about to remove his hand entirely when Shin chases after them, swift and edging on desperate as his lips slide down and press onto knuckles, and a garbled noise floats from his lungs and out into the air.  
  
He breathes through his nose again, imagines there is less empty space in his mouth than there is.  
  
The journey is too short for what he intends, impedes the fervid enjoyment he gets from pairing it with the sound of Min groaning because of him in his mind, but Shin persists. He slides up the length of the longest finger before pushing down again, a process he repeats until there are rivulets spilled from Min's fingers down to the back of his hand.  
  
Min lets out a hoarse chuckle when he tries to release his fingers again. Shin watches them exit his mouth with hooded eyes and slick, parted lips, suddenly burning for a chance to taste Min's, even if it was only for a moment.  
  
All he gets is the sight of Min's eyes staring at the both of them, swimming with a look of intent that makes something in the very pit of Shin's stomach simultaneously burn and lurch.  
  
"You trying to tell me something?"  
  
Shin's moan is affirmative, even as it seems to crack near its end; he's suddenly too aware and too embarrassed to attempt saying something more coherent.  
  
For what is probably the first time since Shin's swimming trunks were discarded, Min turns his attention away from the mirrors partially lining the wall. He lies on his back, head sinking comfortably into a pillow, and Shin hesitates, looking for a confirmation of permission, before he moves closer to him.  
  
There are still a few stray droplets of water peppered across Min's thighs when Shin gets between them, leaving behind two or three kisses for every one droplet he sees. He licks away at each whenever they bleed and expand before he has the chance to reach them, the hands on either side of Min's legs twisting into the covers whenever he pulls a sound out of the other.  
  
But eventually he's close, so close that he's sure Min can feel his every breath on his exposed skin, so close that he can almost—  
  
"Tell me what you want, Shin."  
  
His mouth goes dry. The blush starts creeping up his neck and onto his face again. His back is slightly arched in, trying to accommodate for the sharp pull being made with his hair. Min's looking straight at him, and it leaves Shin feeling vulnerable and raw.  
  
But over all of that hangs the vivid memory of his last visit, when Min had pulled his sleepy body close and Shin, still fuddled from the feeling of Min's hands and Min's mouth and Min's warmth, mumbled about how nice it was when, for a few oddly blissful moments earlier that evening, Min got his hands tangled in Shin's hair while they kissed, blindly stumbling out of the elevator, and _tugged_.  
  
"I—"  
  
There is a pang in his chest, faint and gone as quickly as it appears. The fist yanks suddenly, expectantly, like Min's time is being wasted and Shin moans because he still has this soft look in his eyes, or maybe Shin's started looking at Min through a different lens.  
  
_Tell me what you want, Shin._  
  
He wants—  
  
He wants (him).


End file.
